


what you have; what you need

by winterwind



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Happy Ending, post-2x11, post-coup de grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 17:25:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,432
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3331925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwind/pseuds/winterwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She finds him a month later locked in a cage and he’s not moving.</p>
            </blockquote>





	what you have; what you need

She finds him a month later locked in a cage and he’s not moving.

There are people running around her, some frenzied, some weak, but her vision has tunneled and all she can see is that mop of black hair and her heart is in her throat and  _oh god what if he’s—_

She pushes past people until she’s at the door and she tries to pull off the lock and her hands are shaking. Someone shoves a pole into her hands and she uses it to snap the lock and then she’s frantically clawing at the door, ripping it open with too much force and it bangs loudly even through the noise of her people reunited.

“Bellamy,” she says and it’s a whisper and a plea. She runs a hand through his hair and then down his neck.  _Don’t be dead, don’t be dead, this is all my fault._  There’s a pulse, faint but sure and relief pours through her. “Bellamy, wake up. Come on.”

He stirs slightly and his eyes flutter open.

“Clarke?” His voice is raspy and weak.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling and brushing back his hair. “It’s time to go home. Come on.”

He grumbles something in response, but she can’t make it out. He doesn’t move. She tugs on him, trying to pull him free from the cage, but she’s not strong enough.

“Murphy!” she snaps. From a few feet away, his eyes snap toward her. “Help me.” 

She'd been less than thrilled when he'd been one of the few who had survived Jaha's delusional trip to the desert, but now she's grateful for him, because he comes immediately and together they get him out. He’s barely conscious, head lolling and feet trailing, as she and Murphy all but carry him out. Once they're outside, Lexa sends one of her men over to help them.

"Be careful with him," she says, aiming for commanding and falling short at pleading. The Grounder looks unimpressed and walks off with Bellamy over his shoulder toward where the rest of the injured are gathered.

She takes off running back into the mountain, ignoring Murphy shouting, "You're welcome!" She twists through halls, desperately searching every room.  _Mom will know how to fix this, Mom can make it better._ Room after room, nothing, no one. No one alive anyway.

She heads back and her lungs are burning, but she’ll breathe once his skin is a normal color, once he’s picking fights and calling her Princess. Finally, just outside the entrance she finds her mother.

“I don’t know what they did to them,” she gasps. Her mother looks worried about her and it makes her angry.  _She’s_  not the one who needs help. “But it’s not blood. It’s something worse.”

“I know,” Abby says and Clarke’s heart plummets.

— 

It’s bone marrow, she pieces together later from Monty’s retelling. He shakes so violently afterward that she’s afraid something’s medically wrong. She holds him tightly in her arms and lets him muffle dry sobs into her shoulder. She makes sure that he gets a place on one of the Grounder carts (along with Bellamy, Bellamy who hasn’t been conscious since he said her name,  _don’t die please don’t die_ ).

“They’re gonna be okay, right?” she asks her mom quietly as the more injured people are helped onto the carts. “Bone marrow replenishes itself.”

There’s heartbreak on her mother’s face and Clarke has to ignore it. They’re going to be okay. They have to be.

“Most of them will recover, most likely,” Abby says, not looking at her.

“Most?”

Abby sighs and meets her eyes. “It depends, Clarke. How many times did they undergo the procedure? How frequently? How much was taken each time?” She shakes her head and adds, “And that’s not even including the psychological issues these kids are going to have.”

She’s already starting to see those in action: Monty and his shaking, Miller and his haunted expression, Jasper and the tears he’s failing to hide.

“Clarke,” her mother says gently, so gently. It’s not going to be good what she says next. “Clarke, honey, it doesn’t look good for Bellamy.”

She walks away, ignoring the way her eyes have started to burn, ignoring her mother calling her name.

Bellamy is going to be fine. He has to be.

She walks over to where he’s been laid on the cart. He’s thinner than she remembers him being, face pale and bruised peppered with half healed wounds, and she did this to him. She sent him. This is damage she inflicted.

She peals off her jacket, folds it unto a pillow, and tucks it under his head. Gingerly, she brushes the bangs away from his eyes, letting her fingers linger.

 “You’re going to be okay,” she whispers to him. “You’re going to be fine.”

An angry voice shatters the moment and Clarke winces.

“Don’t you touch him!” It’s Octavia and her face is twisted with anger in a way that Clarke’s never seen before. “This is your fault! You sent him there to die, you bitch. Was it worth the risk? Was it?”

Clarke can’t do anything but stand there dumbfounded, because it is her fault.

“No,” she says weakly. Octavia just glares at her.

“You better pray he doesn’t die, because if he dies, you and I are gonna have problems.”

She just nods shallowly and ambles away aimlessly. She’s not going to cry. She doesn’t deserve to cry, not when she should have prevented this whole mess. Should’ve tried harder to get them out, tried sooner, kept Bellamy safe with them, not dying in some cage.

“Hey,” says Raven and Clarke is being pulled away from the crowd by a strong arm around her shoulder. “She didn’t mean that. She’s just scared and she’s taking it out on you.”

“But she’s right. It is my fault.” And then she breaks down. She feels Raven’s arms come around her, holding her tight, which is more than she deserves, but she lets herself be held because she’s pathetic and she needs it.

“I sent Bellamy in there,” she sobs. “If it weren’t for me…”

“As if you could get Bellamy to do anything he didn’t actually want to do,” Raven says, soft and sure. “It was his idea in the first place. He knew what he was getting into.”

“What if he dies, Raven?” It comes out muffled, the sound buried in the material of Raven’s jacket. 

“He’s not going to die,” she answers, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. Clarke pulls away, so she can take a good look at her. Raven just smirks at her. “Bellamy Blake? Die like this? No way. He’s going to go out in battle or saving Octavia from drowning or something. This isn’t the way his story ends.”

“I hope you’re right,” Clarke says, daring a look over her shoulder at the carts. Octavia is blocking her view of Bellamy and that’s probably for the best.

“Of course I’m right,” she replies with a cocky smile, but it just makes Clarke sad.

“I’m so sorry about Finn.”

Her smile falters a little before her expression melts into something softer.

“It’s okay,” she says. “You did the right thing. I should be apologizing to you for being such a bitch.”

“I deserved it,” Clarke says earnestly.

Raven shakes her head.

“No, you didn’t,” she replies with surety. Then she sighs and looks back at the mass of people, their people and Grounders all mixed together in grief and fear. “You don’t deserve any of this.”

\--- 

Weeks pass and most of the kids heal. Harper dies. Jasper doesn’t take it well and Clarke has to calm him down, sit him down, hold him as he cries. She’s doing a lot of that these days. She can’t do anything to help them regrow their bone marrow other then make sure they eat and drink and sleep, so she tends to their psychological wounds. She wakes them from their nightmares, wipes the tears off their cheeks, and whispers soothing words to them until the color returns to their faces. 

Bellamy doesn’t wake up.

Clarke meets with Lexa in the forest and they agree to maintain their peace. One less thing to worry about. Clarke is grateful.

Before she leaves, Clarke asks how her people are. Getting better. Clarke is glad for it and tells her as much, swallowing down her jealousy.

“And yours?” Lexa asks.

Clarke tells her. Lexa shakes her head.

“Caring so much makes you a weaker leader..”

“Not caring probably got Bellamy killed,” she snaps. “I’d rather care and be hurt than see him die.”

“It seems like you might have to do both,” Lexa says, looking at her like she’s a curious specimen she’d like to study.

Clarke storms off. It’s not a good political move, but her words burn and she needs to get away before she does something stupid like cry in front of the lot of them.

That night, when Octavia is asleep in her tent and not there to keep her away, she sneaks into medical, takes one of his hands in both of hers, and whispers desperate pleas that she doesn’t deserve to make. “Don’t die, Bellamy. Please. Please don’t die.”

\---

When she does manage to fall sleep, Clarke wakes up screaming. After the third time Abby comes into her tent and tries to console her, she learns how to keep her terrors to herself, forcing herself to suffer in silence and isn’t that just her life?

\---

Four weeks after they free the kids from Mount Weather, Raven finds her where she’s sorting through laundry and grins down at her.

“Guess who’s awake,” she says and Clarke’s heart begins to race, beating so hard that she feels it might burst from her chest. Raven nods and she laughs, tears of relief springing to her eyes. “Go. Abby sent Octavia to go get him some food.”

Clarke is up and running before Raven can even finish her sentence. She can hear her laughing behind her, but she doesn’t care. The only thing that matters is to getting to medical as quickly as she can because  _he’s awake he’s awake he’s awake._

There’s nervousness too ( _what if he doesn’t want to see me? I nearly got him killed._ ), but it’s overpowered by the need to see him awake,  _alive_. If he wants to shout at her, she’ll take it, because at least he’s alive to do it.

She burst through the flaps of medical and there he is, hazy but awake, focusing his brown eyes on hers.

“Bellamy,” she says and it’s like a prayer.

His smile is the answer from whatever force is out there.

\--- 

He can’t really move for the first week or so. He’s in agonizing pain. They harvested his marrow three times in the month he was there and his body burns, every action takes four times the effort it normally would.

Octavia glares at him when she comes in to check up on him, not even as a friend but as a doctor, but she allows her to do what she has to do.

“Give it a rest, O,” he snaps at her eventually. “It’s not her fault. I don’t blame her. Neither should you.” If only she could forgive herself that easily.

After two weeks, he moves better, sleeps less.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she tells him one day when she’s sitting by his hips, helping him eat a slab of meat.

“Yeah, me too,” he says in his cocky way, but he wraps his hand around her own and guides the food toward his mouth and she understands.

After three weeks, he is tired of bed rest and complains about it loudly whenever Clarke is in the room. She tells him he’s being annoying and dumb and they bicker about it. She wins, obviously, but that’s not the reason she leaves the room with a smile hinting at her lips.

\--- 

She dreams that Bellamy hates her. They’re fighting men in hazmat suits and he’s screaming at her every horrible thing she’s ever thought about herself. They shoot him and he won’t let her help him. He bleeds out next to her and tells her she’s worthless with his dying breath.

She wakes up in a cold sweat and panics before she remembers that Bellamy’s fine, that she’s fine.

She stuffs her face in her pillow to hide the sound of her crying.

\---

“It’s been weeks,” Bellamy says, annoyance clear in his voice. “I’m tired of these four walls. Not that you’re not a sight for sore eyes, Princess.”

She rolls her eyes. He smirks.

“I’m actually not here to check up on you,” she says. “I was wondering if maybe you wanted to go for a walk.”

Bellamy just stares at her and she begins to wonder if she said something wrong.

“Seriously?” he asks finally.

“Come on,” she replies, a smile flirting with the corners of her mouth. “I’m not cruel enough to taunt you. Not after you’ve complained for so long.”

“Rightfully so,” he challenges with such sincerity that Clarke has to laugh. It’s nice. It’s been a long time since she laughed.

She helps him to his feet and hands him Raven’s old cane without comment. He doesn’t use it at first, but after a few feet of jerky steps, he gives in and walks a little easier.

It’s normally a five minute walk from the medical bay to outside, but Bellamy is weak and slow and it takes just over a half hour. He’s frustrated, she can tell, but there’s determination behind his eyes and she admires him for it.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath when they get outside. Clarke does her best to hide how sad it makes her that it’s been so long since he was conscious and outdoors. How it’s her fault that he’s been deprived.

They stand by the fence closest to the Ark’s entrance and she tries to be subtle about the way she watches him take it all in again.

“Do you mind,” he starts, quiet and embarrassed, before he clears his throat and tries again. “I’m just gonna sit down for a minute.”

“Yeah, of course,” she says and it comes out awkward and wrong and she hates herself for being so patronizing even as she scrambles to sit down next to him.

They sit in silence for a little while, enjoying the light breeze and the sun on their faces. No one bothers them, which is an unexpected but welcome change. For a moment, the world seems peaceful.

When Bellamy does break the silence, his voice is soft.

“It wasn’t just my bone marrow,” he says. It feels like a secret. “They took my blood too. They wanted to kill me at first for breaking in, but they decided to get more use out of me.” There's disgust and anger in his voice and Clarke wishes she could kill them again for what they did to him.

“What happened?” she asks, because she can’t help it. No one’s seen Lincoln since he left with Bellamy and none of the 47 knew how he got there.

He shakes his head. Clarke nods. It’s too hard to talk about. She understands.

“Lincoln sold me out to the Grounders for some drugs,” he says with a shrug. She’s annoyed by his nonchalance. As if Lincoln betraying him, leaving him to die for a stupid drug was acceptable. “Maya helped me escape, but they captured me again a few days later and shoved me in with the rest of the people getting harvested. Then it was back and forth between being hung upside down and being shackled to a surgical table.

“They gave me a few days between each. I guess so they could keep me alive for as long as possible? I don’t know.”

The silence that falls is heavy and it seeps into her lungs until she feels like she can’t breathe.

“Bellamy, I am so sorry.”

He shakes his head again.

“It's not your fault I tried to be the hero and got myself captured,” he says, like he’s already come to terms with it. Maybe he has.

“I’m sorry for sending you at all,” she says. “It wasn’t worth it, Bellamy. Losing you wasn’t worth the risk.”

He stares at her and she meets his eyes and they both just stare at each other for a good minute until Clarke finally breaks eye contact. She takes a shaky breath.

“I thought you were dead,” she says. Her voice sounds pathetic and weak. She hates herself. “I was the one who found you in the cage and you…” She takes another breath before she forces herself to continue.

“You didn’t wake up for weeks and the last thing I said to you was that you possibly dying was worth the risk. I didn’t mean it. I just need you to know that I didn’t mean it.”

She looks back up at him and he’s looking at her with this soft expression she can’t quite understand.

“I know,” he says softly and she nods viciously, grateful and upset and overwhelmed by emotion.

She knows he sees her wipe her eyes, but he doesn’t mention it. He’s grown so much since they stepped off that dropship. Too much.

\--- 

Clarke suggests to the Council that they should throw a party. The retrieval of their people had gone as smoothly as it could of and all the kids who were trapped and survived are on the mend. They agree strangely quickly. She suspects it’s because they’re relieved to no longer be at war and the weather is starting to get warmer. There's real hope for the future.

They probably would have hesitated had they known the sheer amount of alcohol Monty could produce on short notice. The adults sip calmly on the wine the grounders brought as a gift, but the original group are the ones who are getting drunk, doing a poor job of hiding their cups and their silly smiles.

From across the camp, Kane sends Clarke a knowing look. There’s both disapproval and amusement mixed in it. He doesn’t go running to her mother, so she takes it as a win.

She gets roped into more than a few drinking games and, after only an hour or so, she can hear her words slurring around the edges, but she can’t bring herself to care. For the first time in so long, she’s  _happy_  and the feeling is strange, like a long lost friend returned at last. She doesn't know if it'll last, but she'll take it while it lasts. She's earned a little happiness.

She wanders away, mostly because Monty is saying something about a tournament and she can’t get involved in that if she wants to remember tonight but also because she needs a second to take it all in. Her people, finally safe. The real prospect of lasting peace on the horizon.

The Ark's exterior is cold compared to the balmy air, but it’s welcome against her heated skin when she leans up against it. She scrubs her hands over her face before turning up to look at the sky. Laughter bubbles up out of her. When was the last time she laughed? Back when she was still trapped in a tin can up among the stars?

“People are going to start thinking you’re crazy if you keep laughing at nothing that that,” teases a voice.

“Bellamy,” she gushes, grinning. He’s a little ways away, leaning only slightly on Raven’s old cane. He’s been walking better lately. It warms her in a way she can’t quite put into words.

“How much have you had to drink?” he asks bemusedly and goes to move closer to her. He stumbles and Clarke barely suppresses the need to rush over and help him. Even drunk, she knows he’d hate that, he’d get all distant and cold the way he does sometimes.

“How much have you?” she challenges. He smirks at her and continues over to her without any more problems.

“I asked you first,” he says. He’s a child, but it still makes her smile.

“I’ve had enough,” she replies. He smiles that closed mouth smile she’s a little too fond of.

“I’ve had enough too.”

“You really shouldn’t be drinking,” she says uncertainly. She reaches out to touch his arm, so he knows it’s not a rebuke. She’s just worried. Understandably.

“Clarke,” he says gently and her face is suddenly so hot, god. “I’m fine. I’ll survive a drink or two, I promise.”

“You better,” she threatens and he laughs. It’s a lovely sound. She wants to hear it more often. “Are you having a good time?”

“Yes,” he answers. Her legs suddenly forget how to hold her weight—when did she become such a lightweight?—and her knees buckle, but Bellamy is suddenly pressed up against her, a steadying arm around her waist. “Not as good as you, apparently.”

“Stop,” she groans, playfully swatting him on the chest, and wow, he’s so close to her. His face is only a few inches away from hers and he’s looking at her with this dumbstruck expression that she’s sure mirrors the one on her face. He leans in ever so slightly and she instinctually turns her face up toward his.

He’s so close now. She can feel his breath against her lips and suddenly she’s hit with memories of the last time she was this close to someone. It all comes like a flood, kissing Finn that first time in the bunker, the hurt of his betrayal, the weight of his body as it hung lifeless against her.

She jerks back, a hand coming to cover her mouth. Bellamy looks… well, he looks startled and upset and hurt and she can’t deal with this. She can’t deal with any of this.

“I can’t,” she says, barely over a whisper. “Bellamy, please understand. It’s not you. I just… I can’t.”

Bellamy just looks at her for a moment before he swallows and his face slips into a blank mask of apathy. It breaks her heart and the tears that were stinging her eyes are now threatening to fall.

“I get it,” he says, his voice dull and unfeeling.

She makes this horrible sobbing sound when he turns and starts to walk away.

“Bellamy,” she calls after him. “Bellamy, please.”

He doesn’t turn around. She wouldn’t know what she’d say even if he did.

\---

That night, she dreams about trees splashing across a clear blue sky. She’s laying on the ground and she realizes suddenly that she’s been shot, that she’s bleeding out.

Bellamy walks by and she calls out to him and begs him to help her. He just looks at her disinterestedly before leaving her behind.

She dies out in the forest alone and wakes with a start completely alone.

\---

She’d taken for granted how much happier she was with Bellamy in her life. Even as the weather gets warmer, the days seem dull and gray. They mostly avoid each other and when they have to talk, it’s all brusque and businesslike.

Nightmares become a nightly occurrence, so much so that some nights she doesn’t sleep. She stitches torn clothes, a skill Octavia taught her, all night or just wanders around the camp in circles hoping her body will take pity on her and grant her exhausted, dreamless sleep.

She knows she looks awful. She’s not stupid. She sees the sad, nervous looks her friends send her. She takes to hanging out in the garage with Raven, fulfilling whatever mindless task Raven throws her way.

Eventually, Raven sits her down and says, “I don’t know what happened between the two of you, but he looks awful too. Talk to him. You can work this out.”

She nods, leaves, and doesn’t come back.

After that, she spends most of her time wandering around the forest. It’s childish and stupid, but she doesn’t really feel like being helpful in the way they want her to be. She wants a break. She’s done so much for everyone, she’s sacrificed so much, and she deserves some time to herself now that no one’s in immediate danger of dying.

Still, she finds herself memorizing the terrain, finding places to hide, sources of water, animal dens. One day, she finds some berries that seem edible, so she snaps off a branch and goes to find Monty to see if he can recognize them—her impulse is and will probably always be to go to her people first and the adults second.

She spots him sitting in a group with Jasper, Miller, Harper, and Bellamy and starts over when a weird metallic drilling sound rings out from the Ark. Everyone stops and looks at it nervously, but nothing happens, so they go back to business, and when Clarke looks back at the group, she finds Bellamy’s gone pale and his eyes are unfocussed.

“Bellamy?” she says. He doesn’t respond. The four others look between them and Miller goes to lay a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t!”

Miller looks at her, alarmed.

“I think he’s having a panic attack,” she says, rushing over. “That sound must have triggered it. We don’t know how he’s going to react to touch; he could be violent. He has to come out of it himself.”

She crouches down in front of him. His breathing is shallow and frantic; his eyes look right through her.

“Bellamy,” she says, her voice as gentle as she can make it. “Bellamy, wherever you are, you’re not there. You’re at the camp.” His hands are shaking and she’s never felt more helpless.

“You’re safe,” she continues. “No one is going to hurt you anymore. Not ever again. Bellamy? Bellamy, can you hear me?”

She takes a risk and as softly as she can she touches his hand. He starts violently and his eyes snap back into focus, darting around as he tries to get his bearings.

She says his name and he looks at her, his breathing still ragged and labored.

“It’s okay,” she says softly. “You had a panic attack. Anyone would after what you’ve been through. But you’re safe, okay?”

He nods vaguely, like he’s still not really sure what’s going on, before looking around and then nodding again.

“Okay,” he says. “Yeah.” And then he’s up and walking away, leaving the five of them staring after him.

After a moment, Jasper speaks up.

“Is he going to be okay?”

She’s tempted to lie, to say that everything is going to be fine, that with time they’ll all be as good as new, but some lies are too big to tell.

“I don’t know,” she says.

\--- 

She dreams that Bellamy is trapped in a cage and she runs as fast as she can toward him without gaining any ground.

“Wish you’d fought that hard for me,” whispers Finn’s voice behind her.

“I fought for you!” she screams. “You gave up! I fought for you!”

He’s drenched in blood, his eyes dead and accusing, and she’s got Raven’s danger in her hand again. She throws it and tries fruitlessly to wipe the blood off her hands. When she looks up, it’s Bellamy’s body that hangs lifelessly from the pole.

She wakes up as her stomach heaves and she leans over just in time to throw up over the edge of her bed.

She doesn’t sleep for days.

\---

 

Her next interaction with Bellamy doesn’t go much better. She’d been out in the forest again and her stupid, sleep deprived brain decided it would be a great idea to climb a tree to scope out the landscape, but her sleep deprived body was too weak to fulfill the task, so she’d fallen and twisted her ankle.

She’d limped most of the way back to camp when she’d run into Bellamy who immediately rushed over to her.

As he loops her arm over his shoulder to help take the weight off her ankle, he asks, “What happened?”

“I fell out of a tree,” she says, feeling like an enormous idiot. Yes, Clarke Griffin, leader of the 100, got injured falling out of a tree entirely on her own. Great work.

He looks like her like she’s an enormous idiot too, which doesn’t help.

“That was stupid,” he says simply and proves that his bluntness is one of the things she likes most and least about him.

“If you’re just going to lecture me, I can make it on my own,” she snaps. She’s in pain and embarrassed and damn cranky. She’s not at her most charming.

For a moment, she thinks he’s going to press the issue, but instead he just sighs and helps her to the medical bay in silence. Once she’s seated and safe, he goes to leave.

“Bellamy,” she says, because she wants him to stay. She wants him to be by her side again. She misses him with everything that she is.

He turns back and, for the first time since the party, he actually looks like he’s receptive to what she has to say. So naturally that’s the moment her mother bursts in and makes a huge, unnecessary scene about her getting hurt and in the commotion, Bellamy disappears.

“Mom!” she shouts. “I’m fine! It’s just a twisted ankle. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

“It could have been a lot worse,” Abby bites back.

“Yes, it could have,” Clarke answers shortly. “But it’s not. So stop freaking out.”

Abby finishes wrapping her ankle and sighs.

“I’m just worried about you, Clarke, that’s all,” her mother says, sounding defeated and sad, and it occurs to Clarke just how badly she’s made a mess of everything.

She lets herself cry that night, albeit silently, but her whole bed jerks with the force of her sobs. Whatever force is out there takes pity on her and, when she finally drifts off, she sleeps dreamlessly.

\---

She can’t wander off into the forest anymore with her busted ankle and her mother watching her like a hawk, so she stops being a child and actually tries to be a useful member of their society. She studies a medical textbook that had survived the Ark’s fall, she learns how to tie ropes into traps for animals, she fixes up the cuts and bruises that people manage to get doing whatever banal task they’ve been set to.

For the first time since they first landed, everything is calm, peaceful. Clarke hates herself for missing the danger.

One night, Octavia settles down next to her as she’s patching clothes by a fire. They sew silently for a few minutes before Octavia speaks.

“I get it,” she says.

“Get what?” Clarke asks, completely confused.

“Why you pushed Bellamy away,” she answers. Clarke looks back down at the jacket she’d been mending and says nothing. “After what happened with Finn, I don’t blame you for it. But what happened with Finn is exactly why you shouldn’t push him away.”

“Octavia, I don’t want to talk about this,” she says coldly.

“I don’t care,” Octavia snaps and, when Clarke looks back up at her, she finds fire in her eyes. “My brother is miserable and he doesn’t deserve it. Neither do you.”

They stare at each other stubbornly. Clarke breaks first with a sigh and a shake of her head.

“You don’t understand,” she says dully.

“I do,” Octavia insists. “You’re afraid you’re going to fall in love with him and then he’s going to die or something awful is going to happen to him and it’ll destroy you. I get it. But you don’t have any control over that. You don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow. You could die, he could die, we all could die, who the hell knows?

“All you have is right now and if you want to deprive yourself of happiness, I can’t stop you. But don’t tell me you didn’t regret every moment you wasted being angry with Finn as you were sticking that knife in his chest.”

With that Octavia stalks away, leaving Clarke with a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach.

Octavia’s right, as much as Clarke doesn’t want to admit it. If war descended tomorrow and Bellamy died, could she really say she wouldn’t regret not talking to him for weeks? That she wouldn’t regret never kissing him?

The words echo in her head for the rest of the week and she finds herself hyperaware of Bellamy whenever he’s near. Is he okay? Is he having more panic attacks? Has he finished healing?

He catches her staring sometimes. At first, she looked away quickly, but as time passes, she offers him a weak smile that he never returns. But he nods slightly at her and that’s enough for now. Soon, she goes to look at him and finds him already looking at her. So then it turns into these sad, uncomfortable staring contests that always last a moment too long.

“Just talk to him,” Raven murmurs one day, shaking her head at their stupidity.

Maybe she will.

\--- 

She dreams that she’s sitting in a boat in the middle of a lake. Bellamy is sitting on one end, shirtless and tan, fiddling with a makeshift fishing pole. She stares at him, confused, and when he notices, he grins and reaches over the edge of the boat to splash some water at her. She splashes some back and it elevates into a full war. By the time they finish, they’re both soaked and sore with laughter.

She wakes up with an idea.

\--- 

Bellamy’s sitting by himself eating breakfast, which makes her plan a bit easier. She’s weirdly nervous. It’s just Bellamy. She takes a deep breath, steeling her ridiculous nerves, and approaches him.

“What are you doing today?”

He looks up at her like she’s grown an extra head and she momentarily questions every decision she’s ever made in her life that’s lead her to this point. He pointedly swallows the piece of boar he’d been chewing on.

“Nothing important,” he says slowly. “Why?”

“I was wondering if you’d come out with me today,” she answers and mentally smacks herself in the face. This is completely ridiculous. It’s Bellamy she’s talking to, Bellamy her partner, her  _friend_. Yet here she is, just as awkward as uncomfortable as when she’d asked Reed Walters to see the eclipse with her back when she was thirteen. Ridiculous.

“Why?” he asks again, more worried now. “Is everything okay? Is it the Grounders?”

“No,” she says and sighs. This method isn’t working. “I wanted to go to the lake now that the weather’s getting warm again and I was hoping you’d like to keep me company.”

“Oh,” he says. The silence after is awkward and Clarke’s heart sinks.

“Never mind,” she says, already turning away. “It was a silly idea anyway-”

“Wait.” She does, her heart pounding in her chest. “Yeah, I’ll go. Give me ten minutes to grab a pack and I’ll meet you by the front gate.”

A half hour later they’re hiking through the forest and it’s painfully obvious that they have no idea what to say to one another. Clarke hadn’t thought that far ahead, honestly. She’d only been hoping he wouldn’t reject her. The silence is deafening

“I miss you,” she says finally. “We’ve barely spoken in weeks and I hate it.”

“I do too,” he admits. “It’s been pretty awful.”

“That’s an understatement,” she says. His lips quirk into a sad sort of smile. “So can we put the bad stuff behind us and be friends again?”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” She rolls her eyes, but he’s smirking at her and the silence that falls is less stifling. It’s a step in the right direction.

Within the hour, they get to the lake. It’s a beautiful sight, lined by beach and forest, but the best part is that it’s sea monster free, unlike the one they’d found that first week on the ground. Clarke immediately pops down and starts unlacing her boots.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asks, looking at her like she’s an amusing child misbehaving.

“I’m not going to dip my feet in with boots on. Walking around in wet shoes is the worst.”

He considers it for a moment before shrugging. He sits down next to her and starts unlacing his as well. She finishes first and all but bounds toward the water. Judging by Bellamy’s snickering, she looks ridiculous, but she doesn’t care. It’s hot and the water is cool and refreshing on her feet and ankles and she’s on the way to getting her best friend back and she’s allowed to skip if she wants to. She turns her face up to take in the feeling of sunlight on her face.

“Hurry up,” she teases. “The water feels great.”

She’s turning back toward the beach to tease Bellamy about taking so long when he runs past her and jumps, submerging himself completely and leaving Clarke staring flabbergasted.

He pops back up and shakes his wet hair out of his eyes, spraying water all over her.

“You’re right,” he says, grinning. “The water does feel great.”

There’s a dare in his eyes and Clarke never could back down from a challenge. She shucks her jacket, balls it up, and tosses it toward the beach. Luckily, it lands just beyond the surf’s reach. When she turns back toward Bellamy, he’s cocking his head in that arrogant way that used to drive her insane, but it doesn’t last for long. She lunges forward and leaps toward the deeper water, making sure to splash as much water his way as she can.

She’ll never get over the way the water feels around her, the way it makes her feel weightless and free. There’s a stupid smile on her face as she floats, but she doesn’t care enough to stop it.

“I didn’t think you’d come in,” Bellamy tells her.

“Why?” she asks, a bit too forcefully. He laughs at her. “Because I’m boring and no fun?”

“The first thing you did when we got here was take off your boots.”

“Wet shoes are horrible to walk in!” she protests and when he laughs at her, she splashes him. He splashes her back and then it’s on. It’s hard to move quickly in the water, but she does her best to dodge his splashes while sending as many his way as possible. Suddenly, his grin turns dangerous and he dives under the water. 

Nothing happens for a moment and she stares blankly at the place he last was. Then strong arms circle around her thighs and she shrieks as she’s thrown up and back, flailing wildly as she falls back into the water.

 When she comes up, he’s laughing hysterically at her.

“Your face!” he shouts, breathless with laughter. But once she gets a good look at him, she’s the one laughing and his amusement turns into confusion.

“Come here,” she says, half jumping over to him. “You’ve got a huge piece of seaweed on your head. Let me—”

She pulls it off his head and lets it slide against his cheek before she holds it up triumphantly. He takes one look at it, his expression turning disgusted, before ducking under the water again and scrubbing at his hair while she laughs at him.

It isn’t until he stops that she realizes how close they are. He seems to realize it a second after her and he goes to turn away, the smile dropping from his face. She quickly drops the seaweed and grabs his arm.

“Bellamy, wait.” He turns back toward her, but his expression is guarded. She doesn’t blame him for it. “I’m sorry about the party.”

His mouth parts—her eyes immediately drawn to it—and he shakes it head. 

“Forget about it,” he mutters.

“I can't,” she persists. She sighs. “Look, I was scared, okay? After what happened with Finn, I was afraid of letting another person that close to me.”

“I get it,” he interrupts.

“Let me finish,” she insists. He looks at her for a long moment before he nods. “But what did pushing you away accomplish? Other than both of us being miserable? Nothing. I’m still scared, Bellamy. I won’t lie to you. But I’m tired of making myself miserable. Aren’t you?”

He searches her face helplessly, looking torn, and his mouth opens and closes uselessly before he closes it entirely and shrugs.

“It’s your call, Princess,” he says dully, clearly expecting this to go nowhere. “Whatever you want.”

“No, I want you to have a say in this.”

He throws his hands up, frustrated.

“I’ve made my feelings clear,” he snaps. “It’s on you now. If you’re still scared, we’ll be friends. I can do that.”

“What if I don’t want to be friends?” she asks quietly.

There’s a flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Then I don’t know why you brought me out here at all,” he spits, trying to pull away again, but her hand grips his arm like a vice.

“Don’t be stupid,” she says sharply.

He turns to glare at her, but his eyes go soft when he sees how close she’s come to him.

“Clarke,” he says softly.

“You said it’s my call, right?” she asks and her stomach flips when she notices how his eyes are flitting between her eyes and her mouth. He licks his lips, an unconscious gesture, and nods slightly. “Well, this is my call.”

Even with the uneven sand, she still has to stretch a little to kiss him, but that stops being an issue once Bellamy processes what’s happening and wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her closer. As soon as he does, she's wrapping one arm winds across his strong shoulders and snaking her free hand into his hair.

It’s clear that he’s had quite a bit of experience kissing, but she can’t be bothered to mind because she’s sure he’s never kissed another girl the way he’s kissing her, filled with passion and need. She makes a small noise in her throat when he swipes his tongue against her lower lip and opens her mouth to let him kiss her more deeply.

They’re pressed together as much as they can be, but it’s not enough. Using the water to her advantage, she uses the leverage of his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist. His arm tightens against her lower back to support her. It surprises her, honestly. She thought he would have gone straight to groping her ass, what with all his experience with sex, but maybe this is different than his usual one night stands. She hopes it is.

His other hand comes up to support the base of her neck and she doesn’t think she’s ever felt safer. This man in her arms, this man who’s kissing the hell out of her, knows her, understands her,  _respects_  her. And she knows him, understands him, respects him. She didn’t know it could feel like this, never could fathom how it could feel to be with someone who’s your equal in every way. It fills her with warmth and makes her wrap herself even closer to him.

When they finally break apart, they’re both red in the face and out of breath. She laughs breathlessly and he smiles at her, soft and secret. If someone had told her Bellamy Blake would be looking at her so sweetly that first week they landed on Earth, she would have thought they’d gotten their hands on those hallucinogenic nuts.

“You’re sure about this?” he asks, running his hand over her hair.

“Bellamy,” she chides softly and kisses him again, steady and sure. “Yes.”

They make their way back to camp eventually, taking frequent breaks to reacquaint their mouths, and it's almost dark by the time they get back. They must be a sight to behold, basked in the sunset's pink light with their wet clothes and dry shoes, but what really steals the focus is their intertwined hands and soft smiles.

"Finally," say Raven and Octavia in unison.

\--- 

In a fairytale, Clarke would stop having nightmares entirely, but this is real life and she still has them more than she likes. He does too. But when they wake up in a panic, they have someone to hold them, convince them they’re safe, and help them drift back to sleep.

That’s enough for them.

**Author's Note:**

> The title of this fic comes from Fleetwood Mac's "Dreams."
> 
> If you want to see me squeal some more over the 100, follow me on tumblr. I'm cuddleslutwinchester there :)


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